Jimmy Contra Mundi
by gillasue345
Summary: A young boy grows up in an orphanage. But of course Jimmy doesn't want anyone to know that, so when asked, he lies about it and says his father died in the war and his mother died of the flu. This is Jimmy's story... Will be Thommy, eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Jimmy Contra Mundi

Chapter 1

"Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness."

~Dag Hammarskjold~

"I really don't think this is a good idea Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said as he gently helped Thomas up from his bed. He pretended not to notice that Thomas stifled a groan.

Thomas' rib was at the very least cracked, and probably broken, even though he insisted he was fine. His wrist was fractured and the cut on his cheekbone refused to close, but Thomas had been adamant. He wouldn't miss Mr. Matthew's funeral.

Ever since they had called a "truce," Jimmy had been incredibly considerate towards Thomas. Much more so than was strictly necessary. Thomas suspected that it was probably out of lingering guilt for the beating he took for Jimmy. But after a year of solitude, what with the vow of silence he took against Ms. O'Brian, Thomas found he enjoyed having someone to talk to and laugh with. Even if there was a lingering awkwardness between them.

"You know that I can't just stay here while Mr. Crawley is being buried. I'm the bloody under butler. It would be disrespectful." Thomas was breathless even though all he was doing was standing by his bureau.

"I thought you didn't concern yourself with their lives?" Jimmy asked. "From what I hear, you made that pretty clear." Jimmy walked over to Thomas' wardrobe and pulled out one of his nicer suits. He placed it carefully on his bed, efficiently pulling Thomas' dressing gown off his shoulders and placing it on the back of his armchair.

Thomas raised his eyebrows at the gesture. What did he think he was doing? He and Jimmy had been very careful of not touching one another for so long that Jimmy's casualness was strange.

"Yeah well, that was before Lady Sybil died, and you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Oh, so I shouldn't believe that you were something of a villain before the war?" Jimmy asked.

"Now I wouldn't say I was a villain."

"You kidnapped Isis and then pretended to look for her. For a promotion."

Thomas' eyes widened but he conceded with a small smile.

"I didn't realize I was interesting enough for you to be asking about my past life as a _villain_. Actually, I really did look for Isis. She got out of the place I hid her. I hadn't been that scared since the trenches. And for the record, that incident never happened. How did you know about that anyway?"

Thomas stifled a gasp as Jimmy's knuckles brushed across his cheek.

"I have my sources, Mr. Barrow, and I'll never reveal them. Hmm… how the hell am I going to get you shaved?" Thomas moved away from his touch. Confusion was swirling in the pit of his stomach.

"I can shave myself, thank you."

Jimmy shrugged. "Suit yourself"

Thomas was carefully watching him as Jimmy moved around the room collecting his razor, sharpening it on the leather strap by the washbasin. "What exactly is it you think you're doing?" Amusement, tinged with trepidation, was evident in his voice.

"Valeting."

"Oh really? And why, pray tell, do you think I need a valet?" Jimmy smiled one of his genuine smiles, and Thomas felt a flash of desire. He quelled it quickly, especially seeing as Jimmy continued to undress him.

"You have a broken rib, a hurt wrist, and every time you lift your arms you wince, even though you think people don't see it."

Thomas laughed.

"Also, I need the practice," Jimmy said flippantly.

"And there's your true motive. So you've valeted before?"

"Uh huh. I was uh…" Jimmy cleared his throat, handing Thomas his dress shirt and taking his pajama top, setting it with his dressing gown. "I valeted for Lady Anstruther's sons when they visited."

"I didn't know Lady Anstruther had any sons. They've never visited Downton."

"Well Freddie—I mean Mr. Frederick— the oldest, died in the war, but her youngest son Anthony had a heart murmur, so he was exempt." Jimmy chuckled under his breath. "He's a 'poet.' Or so they say." There was a bitterness in his voice and Thomas' eyebrows quirked at his tone.

"I smell a story there."

"Maybe another time."

They lapsed into silence as Thomas let Jimmy dress him, until the irony of the situation was too much for him.

"Is it just me, or is this utterly ridiculous?"

"Why do you say that? You're giving me a chance to practice, I'm helping you dress with less pain. Win-win," Jimmy shrugged again. Thomas was beginning to recognize the gesture as one of Jimmy's tells. Jimmy wasn't telling the truth, but for the life of him Thomas couldn't figure out what other motive James would have to 'valet' for him.

_Unless… no. _Thomas pushed that thought out of his mind. _You know it's not like that with him, so stop hoping. _He chastised himself.

Finally, Thomas was dressed.

The trip downstairs was an adventure full of breathless curses. Jimmy could only watch helplessly as Thomas resolutely descended each step towards the servant's hall.

"Really, Thomas, I think under the circumstances, they will understand if you can't make it to the funeral," Jimmy said as Thomas had to stop halfway down. Thomas looked up sharply at the use of his given name, but didn't comment.

He was panting. There was a rather unflattering flush across his cheekbones, contrasting sharply with how suddenly pale he had gotten with exertion. Thomas swayed and Jimmy reached out automatically to catch him.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking myself down a flight of stairs."

"Says the man who can't even stand upright!" Jimmy scoffed. "I really must insist you make your way upstairs and get into bed. You're not well and they will understand."

"Look at you, all bossy and authoritative. Heaven forbid you ever get into a position of power."

"I'll show you bossy, Mr. Barrow, if you don't get upstairs this minute." Jimmy's voice softened, "Come on, they won't miss us."

"Us?"

"Well I can't very well leave you alone upstairs without help, just take a seat right here and I'll run down and let Ma Patmore know you're unwell and I've decided to stay behind and take care of you."

Thomas had forgotten what it felt like to be taken care of. His throat tightened with emotion.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," Jimmy replied, tossing Thomas one of his trademark smirks. "Just sit tight."

Jimmy made his way down the remaining stairs, past the servant's hall and into the kitchens, where he could hear the dulcet tones (screeches) of Mrs. Patmore as the kitchen staff desperately tried to finish the luncheon before the family returned from the funeral.

"Mrs. Patmore."

"What is it James? I've got all the time in the world here, so please, do take your time."

"Mr. Barrow is still feeling under the weather, and I'm afraid he won't be able to make it to the funeral. I've decided to stay with him in case he needs any help." Jimmy moved forward slowly, pouting prettily until he could see Mrs. Patmore soften.

"I know you're terribly busy with the luncheon and all, but if you could send one of the hallboys as soon as the family returns, I will be at my post in a jiffy."

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Patmore waved him off. "I'll let Mr. Carson know."

"Thank you Mrs. Patmore. You're an angel and don't let anyone tell you different."

"Oh don't make me blush. Here, take up a tray for him. Really, James, it's so nice to see you and Thomas patch things up. He needs a friend."

It was Jimmy's turn to blush. "Yes ma'am," he replied, guiltily looking down at his shoes.

Jimmy made his way up the stairs, contemplating his actions over the past few days. Of course, he knew he was probably overdoing it with Thomas, being perhaps too nice, too understanding. He didn't want to give Thomas the wrong idea again. But he found he liked having someone besides Alfred to spend his time with. He liked being able to have an intelligent conversation with Thomas.

Thomas was waiting for him on the stairs, right where Jimmy had left him. He smiled as he saw the tea tray.

"I take it Ma Patmore sends her blessings."

"Oh you know Mrs. Patmore. Come on, let's get you upstairs."

It was slow going. Jimmy had a hard time supporting Thomas and the tea tray, so the trip was twice as long as it needed to be. But neither of them really minded.

"I guess you wasted your time getting me all dressed up, seeing as I'm not going anywhere." Thomas said as Jimmy put the tray on Thomas' desk and helped him to his bed.

"I'm sure I will get over it. How about a hand or two?"

Jimmy nodded, pouring a cup for himself and Thomas. "I suppose, just let me grab my deck."

"No need, I've got one in the top drawer of my desk." Thomas lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly but Jimmy caught the grimace Thomas tried to hide.

"If it hurts to breathe, why do you torture yourself with smoking?" Jimmy asked, digging around in the drawer to find the deck of cards.

"Because not smoking hurts worse."

Jimmy rolled his eyes and sat down at the edge of the bed, crossing his legs Indian style. He shuffled the deck expertly and started a game of Blackjack.

They played in silence for a while, the only sound between them the shuffling of the cards.

"Have you ever had a girl before?" Jimmy asked out of the blue as he lost a hand to Thomas.

Thomas looked up sharply, his brow furrowed. _Where the bloody hell had that come from?_ He thought, just as a similar thought crossed Jimmy's mind. But slowly, Thomas nodded.

"Aye, there's been a girl or two in my time." He reached over to his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows in surprise; he waited with bated breath for Thomas to continue. He hadn't really expected Thomas to answer such a personal question. Then again he hadn't expected himself to ask such a personal question.

"And?" he finally prompted.

Thomas shrugged. "And nothing James. I'm sure I don't go around asking you about all the women you've been with."

"You could. I wouldn't refuse to tell you."

"James, I'm sure I don't want to know," Thomas hated the slight tremor in his voice, giving him away. Why would James think he'd want to hear about his previous lovers?

"I guess I just don't understand… if you've been with women before, why do you insist on…"

"On what?"

"I dunno, being… _that_ way… Why don't you just find—"

"Find a nice girl and settle down with her like a 'normal' person would?" Thomas' voice was dripping with derision.

"I mean… wouldn't it make life easier? You wouldn't have to be alone."

"I wouldn't be happy. I'd rather be alone than be with someone who I know can't make me happy." The card game lay forgotten between them. His glance met Jimmy's and he held it. Jimmy was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable but he couldn't break his gaze. He had had this conversation before, with Anthony, but he still didn't know how he felt about Thomas' unwavering determination and bravery. Jimmy wasn't brave. Hell, he couldn't even admit to himself what Thomas was so brave to admit to the world. He'd been listening when Thomas had proudly stood in front of Mr. Carson when he stated that he wasn't foul.

This was a defining moment for him. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach and his heart started to race. He had to tell Thomas the truth. _Do it right now, _he thought_, otherwise_—he broke off his train of thought, quickly stamping it back into the recesses of his mind.

Thomas was desperate to take the conversation in a different direction, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly they were both spared by a knock on the slightly ajar door.

James whipped his head around to find John standing awkwardly in the doorway. How much had he heard?

"Mr. Barrow," John started, his voice soft.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Patmore sent me up here to tell you that James is needed in the drawing room. The family has returned and is asking for tea."

"He'll be right down John, thank you."

John left quickly and Jimmy and Thomas were left alone once again. The tense bubble around them had burst however, and Jimmy stood, straightening his livery nervously.

"I'd best get down there," he said and he smiled at Thomas before turning to go.

Thomas watched his retreating back as he walked to the door.

"Jimmy!" he called out just before he left the room. Jimmy turned.

"Would you fancy coming back later this evening? We could read the evening post…"

Jimmy smiled one of his genuine smiles, and it lit up his entire face.

"I'd like that Mr. Barrow. I'll bring you up a tray for supper later on, and I'll fill you in on all the gossip." With that, he turned and left.

Thomas smiled and watched him go.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy Contra Mundi

Chapter 2

"Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I need it most" ~Swedish Proverb~

Thomas returned to work a few weeks after Mr. Crawley's funeral. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, Mr. Carson was grateful for his return. In the year following 'The Incident' Thomas had done what he does best: made himself indispensable. His rib mended within a week or two though he found if he lifted a suitcase the wrong way it would still send a sharp stab of pain to his side.

There was a tiny white scar across his cheekbone, a daily reminder of Jimmy's own cowardice. Every time he looked at Thomas, the guilt welled up from some unknown place near his navel. Jimmy hated feeling indebted to anyone. The moment he owes someone else, he loses control. And he must be in control.

Mr. Carson had been getting on in years, and more and more he had been delegating the more physical chores to Thomas. One of these tasks included rotating and shifting the wine cellar and taking inventory.

Carson had asked him to see to the wine rotation soon after he returned to work. Though Mr. Bates had looked up in alarm at Carson's request, Thomas could barely contain his smirk.

He had thanked Carson and went about eating his breakfast of porridge and toast, but his insides were dancing.

"Mr. Carson,"

"Yes Mr. Barrow?"

"I was wondering if I might get some help from one of the footmen with the rotation. M'ribs are still a little weak." James glanced up quickly from his tea. He'd been under the impression that Thomas had been on the mend. But Thomas just caught his eye and surreptitiously winked.

"I would be happy to help—" Alfred began, but Mr. Carson interrupted him.

"You may have James, Mr. Barrow. Alfred is to be sent into Ripon this afternoon on an errand with Ivy for Mrs. Patmore, though I can't imagine why she would need a footman to do this when Ivy is perfectly capable of picking up an order of spices by herself."

Thomas inwardly smiled at the scandalized tone Mr. Carson put on. But Thomas knew Mr. Carson had a certain soft spot for Alfred and therefore he usually didn't deny any chance for Alfred to move up or pursue cooking because he knew it was what Alfred really wanted.

Which is of course why he suggested that Alfred accompany Ivy to Mrs. Patmore in the first place.

That old familiar flutter started in the pit of his stomach as he was suddenly attacked with a bout of nerves. What if he'd been too forward? They had finally gotten back to the easy friendship they'd had in the beginning.

But then Jimmy caught his eye and smiled one Thomas' favorite smiles, the secret one that was far too rare.

"Well then, James, we'll begin work this afternoon."

"Right you are Mr. Barrow," he said, returning to his breakfast.

Friendship, Thomas was quick to discover, was hard. He tried to pretend he wasn't aware of the other man next to him, but that was a losing battle. As much as he was loath to admit it, he actually thought not being his friend _might_ be easier. At least then he could look at the other man every not and again without being noticed.

They had been shifting wine for the better part of the afternoon and were finally down to just the burgundy and port wine. It was hard work and both of them had shed their jackets and rolled up their shirtsleeves. Thomas was still uncomfortably warm, but he daren't take off his vest or loosen his tie.

"Mr. Barrow," Jimmy began curiously.

"Hmm?" Thomas replied as he hefted another box of burgundy down the line.

"Why do we rotate the wine?"

"Keeps it from settling," Thomas replied.

Jimmy snorted. "What was that?" Thomas asked.

"It's nothin' really, it's just the things people come up with to keep us busy. Rather silly don't you think? Carson's just going to decant it anyway," Jimmy grunted softly as he lifted a heavy barrel. Thomas caught his glance but quickly looked away. There was a light sheen of sweat on Jimmy's brow, and he itched to brush it away.

"I suppose you're right, Jimmy," With that Thomas brushed his hands and took a seat on one of the upturned boxes.

"What are you doing?" Jimmy asked, incredulous.

"Taking a break. 'Sides, me ribs hurt" Thomas pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "And don't think I don't know about the armchair incident; quit being so incredulous." Jimmy flushed.

"Can I have one?" Jimmy said, masking his chagrin.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. He stood and handed over the packet and his lighter.

"Thanks," Jimmy lit his smoke, coughing lightly on the first inhale.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I try not to make it a habit," Jimmy shrugged and took a long drag, leaning against the brick wall.

"It just seems odd. I've known you almost two years, and I've never seen you smoke. Not once."

Jimmy felt a flash of anger at the older man sitting across from him. "You don't know everything about me Mr. Barrow."

Thomas blushed. "I never said I did… I didn't mean to presume—I mean—I was just trying to make conversation," They lapsed into an awkward silence as Jimmy finished his cigarette and crushed it beneath his feet. Thomas followed suit; unfortunately, as he moved to stamp out the flame, his rib tweaked and stumbled. Unconsciously, Jimmy moved forward to catch him.

When you work and live in close quarters with someone for an extended period of time, you tend to start copying mannerisms; he and Jimmy had become so accustomed to moving in tandem that he hadn't realized that they were about to collide until Jimmy's forehead smacked hard into Thomas'. Thomas reeled backwards, knocking over the candelabra, their only source of light save for the strip of daylight beneath the cellar door. The flames quickly extinguished in the dirt ground, and they were pitched into sudden darkness.

Now hurting in his chest and his head, Thomas made to sit back down on the crate, figuring he had done enough moving for the time being. A laugh bubbled up from the pit of his stomach and he turned his head to where Jimmy had been, hoping to laugh it off as a clumsy moment. But Jimmy was gone.

"Jimmy?" he asked. Silence. Thomas reached into his pocket. "Do you still have my lighter?" he asked when he didn't find it. Still there was silence. The darkness was pressing in on Thomas, and he started to feel dread creep into his consciousness. Had he been knocked out?

"Jimmy where are you?" Thomas started to reach out to where he thought Jimmy would have landed after their collision, but found no one. He fought the panic and took a deep breath. He sat still and silent in the dark, listening. Then off to his left, he heard Jimmy's erratic breathing. A soft keening noise floated over to him, and his breath hitched.

Slowly, Thomas moved forward on his hands and knees until he reached the wall. His fingers brushed against his lighter, abandoned on the soft ground, and he lifted it with shaking fingers.

"Jimmy?" he asked once more, not expecting an answer. He lit the flame, moving it slowly back and forth in the direction of the terrifying sound of choked sobs. Finally a flash of golden hair was illuminated and Thomas breathed a sigh. He quickly crawled over to where Jimmy was curled up against the wall; his arms were wrapped tightly around his legs and he was moving back and forth. His head was pressed tightly against his knees.

Thomas hesitated. He'd seen this kind of reaction before, with Mr. Lang. Jimmy was having a flashback, but what of? Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers trembling. And Jimmy looked up the moment Thomas' fingers brushed against the rolled up cuff of his sleeve. He was careful not to touch his bare skin. "Jimmy?" he said, his voice cautious. "Do you know where you are?"

Jimmy's expression was a curious combination of blankness and wild terror. He was looking at Thomas, but he wasn't really seeing him.

His eyes were too bright in the light of the flame, and Thomas realized with a start that he was crying.

"I won't tell. I promise, Gregory… just… no more… M-Mr. Gibbons… please don't do that…" Jimmy whispered. He pulled sharply away from Thomas' touch, curling even further in on himself. _Who the bloody hell is Gregory Gibbons? _Thomas watched helplessly, entranced, as Jimmy started to hyperventilate. Suddenly he was forced out of his shock when Jimmy began to knock his head against the brick wall, each time harder than the last.

"Don't do that, Jimmy, you'll hurt yourself," Thomas reached forward, grasping him by the shoulders, but this apparently was the exact opposite thing to do. With a wild cry of terror, Jimmy lunged forward, kicking and hitting and scraping every inch of Thomas that he could reach.

"Leave me alone, you filthy bastard!" he cried out, punctuating each word with a blow. His fear-fueled strength overpowered Thomas as Jimmy straddled his waist, hitting him over and over. Thomas could do nothing but cover his most vulnerable areas and wait for him to come back to his senses, or until he found an opportunity to overpower Jimmy.

Thomas didn't want to hurt him. It was obvious that Jimmy thought he was fighting someone else. Someone from his past. But a particularly powerful blow caused stars to erupt in his vision and before he knew it, Thomas was blacking out. It was this that pulled Jimmy forcefully from his trance.

Jimmy's anger was spent and he collapsed next to Thomas on the ground. He looked over to Thomas, who was lying unconscious next to him, and he wasn't in that dark, dank office anymore; he was back at Downton. The man next to him wasn't Mr. Gibbons. He was Thomas. Thomas who'd taken a beating for him without even blinking, who loved him despite being ridiculed and mocked and treated like garbage for a year straight. And this was how he repaid his kindness. Quickly, he sat up, shaking Thomas by the shoulder.

"Mr. Barrow," he said, "Thomas! You need to wake up." Thomas was bleeding from his nose profusely. Jimmy lifted his head and Thomas came to with a gasp, and blood flowed freely. His lip had opened up again as well.

"What the hell?" Thomas whispered. He tasted blood. Carefully, he lifted his hand to his face. "Oh, _ow_…" he muttered, his voice was thick. "I think you broke my nose," he said.

"I'm so sorry, Thomas." Jimmy said. "I dunno what—'

Jimmy helped him up. Guilt suffocated him. Thomas had just begun to heal from the last beating he took at Jimmy's expense. He pulled out his handkerchief and gently pressed it to Thomas face. Thomas hissed.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs." Jimmy helped Thomas up, supporting him with his shoulder. Thomas continued to press the handkerchief to his face; it was rapidly becoming redder.

The wine rotation forgotten, Jimmy and Thomas made their way stiffly up the stairs, all the while Jimmy did not stop apologizing. "What are you going to tell Mr. Carson?" Jimmy asked, his voice laced with fear and his hands were still trembling. "And what about the rotation?"

"We'll tell him… a box fell from a shelf and broke my nose," Thomas said through the fabric. "And chances are he'll probably ask me to do the rotation next time too, so we can just fudge it One month won't hurt the port."

Jimmy stopped abruptly.

"Why would you cover for me?" Thomas briefly met his gaze as they stood just inside Carson's office.

"Because I know you didn't mean to do it Jimmy," Thomas' voice was so soft, so gentle, so full of care that Jimmy had to look away.

"You shouldn't be so kind to me Mr. Barrow. I—I don't deserve it,"

"Yeah, well why don't you let me decide what you're worth, hmm?"

Jimmy couldn't meet his gaze. "I really am—"

"—Sorry, I know," Thomas finished for him. They exited the office and entered the Servant's Hall. Thankfully it was empty. The hall boys hadn't come in to lay the tea yet. "Jimmy," Thomas began, taking a seat in the nearest chair. "You're going to have to set my nose, or it'll never heal right."

Jimmy cringed. He really hated blood. "Shouldn't we get Dr. Clarkson or someone to set it?" Jimmy hedged.

"No, I'm losing too much blood to call Clarkson." He was right, of course. Thomas' face had gone pure white, the contrast with the bright red blood smeared across his face was jarring.

Jimmy took a deep breath. _It's the least you can bloody do, you broke his nose for Christ's sake._

"Alright, what do I need to do?" he asked. Thomas' nose was rapidly swelling. The normally narrow bridge of his nose was now curved impossibly to the left, making the tip swell up to resemble a mushroom.

"Here, bend down a bit. Let me show you." Jimmy raised his eyebrows.

"But _my_ nose isn't broken."

"I know that you arse, but if you do it wrong way, you can break it further rather than set it, and I rather like my nose."

Thomas reached up tentatively. He placed his thumbs on either side of Jimmy's nose, his fingers fanning out over his cheeks. His forefingers came to rest against Jimmy's ears.

"Do you feel where my thumbs are? There is a ridge there, and you need to find the place that it is fractured. And pop it back." A flush rose to Thomas' cheeks, and he dropped his hands. He cleared his throat. "Just, do it quickly. Don't make a meal of it."

Jimmy lifted his hands slowly. He pressed his thumbs gently on either side of his nose.

"Shite, shite shite!"

"Oh calm down, I haven't even done anything yet ya big ninny," Jimmy said, exasperated.

"You don't have to be nasty. It's your fault I'm sitting here," Thomas replied sharply.

Jimmy adjusted his grip slightly, pressing against Thomas' ears. He didn't respond, but his mouth twisted with guilt. "Like I need a reminder," he muttered under his breath. Thomas' expression softened.

"I was just jokin' round Jimmy, _ah_ shite! That hurts you know!"

"Alright, mate, we're gonna do this on the count of three…" He pressed tighter. "One… two…" _Crunch. _"Three."

"Ah! Bollocks!" Thomas hollered. He pulled away sharply. Tears sprang instantly into his eyes and he brushed them away as gently as he could. "Jesus fucking Christ Jimmy! I thought you said on three!"

"Yeah well, it's all better now," Jimmy said, masking a laugh by clearing his throat.

"What the devil is going on in here?!" Mrs. Patmore yelled behind Jimmy. Jimmy moved out of the way quickly, automatically coming to attention. Mrs. Patmore's eyes widened when she saw the state Thomas was in and quickly rushed forward, her hands fluttering over Thomas without actually touching him.

"Thomas! What happened?" Thomas tried to hide the tears in his eyes and failed.

He coughed. "Er… a stray box fell on me, Mrs. P. Nothing life threatening. Just a broken nose. Jimmy here set it." Thomas was speaking too quickly and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

She looked back and forth between them, at Jimmy who was shifting his weight and looking at the floor to Thomas' flushed cheeks, one of his rare tells.

"Uh huh… What really happened Thomas?"

"I told you what really happened!" he said indignantly. His eyes widened in a gesture of "leave it be woman!" She decided to drop it.

"Well if you're alright then, why don't you get upstairs for a bit of a rest? I'll tell Mrs. Hughes. Go on! James. You help him." Mrs. Patmore was in her element, bossing them around.

"Yes Ma." Jimmy said, winking. Mrs. Patmore gave him a stern look but smiled, pressing her hand to Jimmy's cheek briefly. "Now go! Before anyone else sees you in this state!" She walked back towards the kitchens, shaking her head.

Jimmy held out his hand and helped him up but Thomas waved him off. "I'm perfectly capable of—whoa!" Thomas swayed on his feet as he stood, the blood rushing to his head and he nearly fell over.

"Right then, of course you are." Jimmy grasped his upper arm and pulled it over his shoulder, supporting most of his weight."

They made it upstairs slowly. "Can I ask you something?" Thomas asked as Jimmy deposited him onto his bed.

"You just did."

"Pipe down! I'm probably concussed. Give me a little leeway here."

"What would you like to ask?" Jimmy said as he helped himself to Thomas' washbasin. He grabbed the bar of soap by the basin and began to methodically wash the blood from his hands.

"Who is Mr. Gibbons?" Thomas asked. Jimmy's hands froze above the basin, the bar of soap escaped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

"Pardon?" he asked, biting his lip. His fingers were trembling.

"I mean… you called me Mr. Gibbons… and it just seemed like…" Thomas trailed off lamely.

But just as quickly, Jimmy's shock dispersed and he bent down to retrieve the soap.

"Damn it!" Jimmy suddenly exclaimed. He tossed a wet washcloth in Thomas's direction and finished washing quickly. "Do you know what we did?"

"What?" Thomas was alarmed at Jimmy's wild expression.

"We forgot our jackets in the cellar," he said, effectively deflecting Thomas' question. He hastily dried his hands on a towel and hurried over to the door. "I'd better go down and retrieve them. I'll get one of the hall boys to go to the icebox and crush some up for you. Put it over your eyes and the bridge of your nose, and I'll see you after supper yeah?"

Thomas nodded slowly. "Alright. Sure. I'll see you later then," he said. _Why is Jimmy acting so strangely?_ He thought.

"Try not to fall asleep alright?" Jimmy asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'll try," Thomas replied dryly.

And with a final nod Jimmy left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Thomas shook his head. Ever since the whole black market debacle, Thomas had been very careful about trusting anyone, but apparently if Jimmy Kent was in the picture, his judgment was extremely clouded. He didn't know what to make of anything anymore. All he knew was Jimmy was hiding something.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy Contra Mundi

Chapter 3

"I see the dream and I see the nightmare, and I believe you can't have the dream without the nightmare."

Time passed as it inevetibly did at Downton. The regimented pattern of their days blurred their days and before they knew it, spring had faded into summer.

And it seemed that the floodgates had been opened for Jimmy on that dark day in the cellar. Thomas hadn't asked again who Mr. Gibbons was, and had Jimmy tried to push his uncomfortable moment of vulnerablility from his mind, and he succeded—during the day. But he he couldnt stop the memories of his childhood from surfacing while he slept.

Dreams he hadn't had for years began popping back up into his subconscious, filling his nights with too vivid colors and sensations. Many times a week he would wake suddenly, his heart pounding and his entire body shaking. The nightmares felt more real to him than being awake. During the day he floated through his duties as if in a daze.

Often he was short and sometimes downright nasty to other members of staff. Several times he'd gotten a dressing down from Mr. Carson about being mindful of other's feelings. But he usually just shrugged these off, and tried for a few days to be nicer to everyone so they'd get off his back.

The only thing that seemed to ground him was Thomas. Slowly, very _very_ slowly over the course of the six months following Matthew Crawley's death, Thomas had become as integral to Jimmy's life as breathing. They spent most of their free time together now, and Jimmy couldn't remember when it had stopped being awkward and began to feel natural and easy between them.

Smoke was curling about their heads like a serpent on a limb, rising ever higher until it disappeared as quietly as it came. Jimmy was lying upside down on Thomas' bed, his bare feet resting on the brass headboard. Thomas sat on the floor, a book was propped up on his chest as he smoked. Jimmy read along with him over his shoulder, even though he knew Thomas hated it.

"Can I have some of that?" Jimmy asked, his voice quiet. Without thinking, Thomas raised the cigarette over his head and felt Jimmy lean down to take a long drag off the end. Thomas could almost feel his lips against his fingers.

The intimacy of the gesture sent a flash of pleasure down his spine.

They had spent many evenings thus in the six months following Mr. Crawley's death, sometimes in James' room, other times in Thomas'. Thomas always left the door slightly ajar in order to prevent suspicion of anything _unseemly_ between the two and he _never_ touched him more than necessary, but there was a sense of intimacy between them that neither openly acknowledged for fear that the safe little bubble of friendship they were in would burst.

"Jimmy," Thomas began taking a last drag off his smoke and putting it out deftly in an ashtray next to his bed.

"Yes, Mr. Barrow?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, call me Thomas," he huffed, and then he became pensive. "What did you want out of life?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Oh I dunno, did you ever want more than a life of service?" Jimmy was silent for a beat before answering him in a clipped voice.

"It is good work Thomas, and I'm lucky to have it. Once, a long time ago, I had a dream of going to the conservatory, but it was just idle fancy. Besides, it was a life in service or..." Jimmy broke off suddenly, sitting up on the lumpy mattress and running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Or what?" Thomas asked, intrigued.

Jimmy shrugged. "Or the street—or worse, the workhouses. I had no one and nowhere to go. That's how Beth… I mean Lady Anstruther found me at any rate." Jimmy tripped over his words at the end, and Thomas raised his eyebrows. Jimmy was a terrible liar and Thomas could usually spot one of his falsehoods.

"What d'you mean she _found_ you?"

"I meant nothin' by it. She helped me. Got me out of a bad situation, and I'm grateful to her."

"I thought you had one of those 'idyllic childhoods' one sees in a fairy tale novel?"

"Well you thought wrong di'nt ya?" Jimmy retorted his voice suddenly sharp. His hair fell back into his face and he pushed the unruly curls back behind his ear. _He could use a haircut_, Thomas though idly. Then forced himself to look away.

Thomas could sense the Jimmy's apprehension and decided not to press the matter, but he would get to the bottom of his story. If there's one thing Thomas wasn't lacking, it was tenacity. _And it isn't as if you've anything better to do._ He sighed, returning to his book.

"What're ya reading, anyway? It's bloody awful," Jimmy asked, trying desperately to change the subject. He plopped back down on the bed, propping his head up with his hand as he lay on his side, reading over Thomas's shoulder once again.

"_Sons and Lovers_," Thomas casually replied, lighting another cigarette and turning the page. "And it isn't awful. It's about Oedipus Complexes and their consequences." Thomas looked up, smugly.

"Oh ho! Look at you. Finally got round to reading Freud have you?" He lightly pushed Thomas's shoulder. "Yeah well, I think this Paul guy was screwed up to begin with. Why doesn't he just go off with Clara, or Miriam even? 'Stead he's all hung up on his mum. It's revolting."

Thomas shrugged. "Oh I dunno, I think there is some truth in it," he mumbled around his cigarette.

"You believe all that nonsense?"

Thomas shrugged again. He laughed quietly to himself. _I'm starting to imitate his bloody tells. What's the matter with me?_ "I can tell you with certainty no woman would ever measure up to me mum, and I don't even bat for that team!" Thomas joked, smiling smugly.

Jimmy's face scrunched up in confusion. "That doesn't even make any sense. Have you been drinking?"

Thomas snorted. "Course not. What about you then? You're telling me that you don't unconsciously compare whichever girl you're courting _this_ month with your mum?"

Thomas laughed. "Speaking of which, are you still tormenting poor Ivy?" Jimmy flushed.

Aside from that one awkward conversation during the afternoon of Mr. Crawley's funeral, Jimmy had steadfastly avoided any and all romantic conversations. Thomas had been trying and so far failing to make the topic of romance an easy one between them, but Jimmy always shot him down. Thomas had really wanted them to become proper mates, to be able to talk about things like this, but Jimmy didn't seem to want any part of it.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows at the insinuation. "No, I'm not, and I can guarantee you with complete certainty that I do not compare anyone to my mother," he said bitterly, leaving Thomas to wonder at his meaning. Jimmy reached out suddenly, and Thomas flinched away instinctively. But Jimmy just took Thomas' cigarette from his hand and inhaled the last drag before handing it back for Thomas to stub out. Their fingers brushed gently and Thomas pulled away first.

Thomas smiled briefly before masking up his delight at Jimmy's forwardness.

Over the past six months, Thomas had been extremely careful about touching Jimmy. And so in those brief moments of contact when Jimmy seemed to forget himself and treat him as he would any other person, Thomas was secretly ecstatic.

He knew that he was being ridiculous and lacking self-respect, but he loved Jimmy so much that friendship really was enough for him. And even though he stomped it down to the very recesses of his mind, when Jimmy touched him like that, his heart still had the gall to _hope_ that there was a possibility of something more between them.

They lapsed into silence as Thomas settled back against the bedframe, opening the book again. He silently read to the end of the chapter and then Thomas replaced his bookmark and tossed his book up onto the armchair.

He stood slowly, his knees protesting after sitting so long on the unforgiving floor. He turned to his bed to find that Jimmy had fallen asleep.

"Hey Jimmy," he called softly. "Jimmy," he said a little louder when Jimmy didn't respond. He bit his lip, contemplating his options. There was nothing for it.

Carefully he reached out, grasping Jimmy very lightly on the shoulder and he gave it a little shake. Jimmy hummed under his breath and caught Thomas hand with his own. He brought it close to his face and mumbled incoherently for a moment.

"Jimmy, time for bed," Thomas whispered, his breath caught in his throat.

"Hmmm don't wanna get up. Five more minutes." Jimmy mumbled, and to Thomas' absolute shock, Jimmy nuzzled his cheek against his hand and Thomas pulled away sharply.

"Jimmy, wake up. It's late," he said, much sharper this time. His fingers were tingling where the barely visible scruff on his cheek had tickled his skin. Jimmy jerked awake, sitting bolt upright and looking around in confusion.

"What 'appened?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. He stood, running his hand through his hair and pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes.

"You dozed off," Thomas replied, trying to regain his composure. "And we've a lot of work to do tomorrow. It seems Lord Grantham has set up an extended stay for some visitors, I think as a way to distract Lady Mary, and we've got to prepare the house." Thomas said rolling his eyes.

Carefully, extremely conscious of their physical proximety, he sidestepped Jimmy and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He bent down to untie his shoes and noticed that Jimmy hadn't moved.

He looked up through the locks of hair that fell into his eyes. "Yes?" he asked, pulling off his shoes and dumping them unceremoniously on the floor.

Jimmy shook his head as if coming out of a trance. "Er—nothing." He smiled tightly and made his way to the door. He turned back around at the last moment, as if he had forgotten something.

"Goodnight, Thomas," he whispered and Thomas smiled one of his genuine smiles.

"Night Jimmy. See you in the morning."

Jimmy returned to his room and prepared for bed.

As he drifted off to sleep, the dread, which had been subdued enough for him to fall easily to sleep in Thomas' room returned at full force, coloring his dreams with the red haze of fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Jimmy Contra Mundi

Chapter 4

NOTE: A special thank you to Are-Are! *Muah* Lindsey

"In the act of loving someone, you arm them against you." ~Unknown~

The day was awful from the first breath taken in wakefulness; the day was awful from the instant his _eyes_ opened- the day was so awful it was beyond reproach- a masterpiece of misery. So Jimmy determined. Don't ask him how he knew, but something (or possibly everything) was going to go terribly wrong today.

His head was pounding painfully in time with his pulse, and the raucous chatter of the hall boys as they moved around furniture next door was only making things worse. _Why are they moving around furniture?_ He wondered miserably.

Jimmy stubbed his toe as he practically fell out of bed, and for a moment, he almost laughed. _Maybe I got the awfulness out of the way early, _he thought, but then he nicked himself badly in the neck shaving _and_ got blood all over one of his brand new shirts. _So much for that. _

Cursing, Jimmy replaced his shirt, soaking it in some soda crystals to remove the stain, but apparently he picked up the wrong bottle, because instead of shifting the blood, it _burned _ableeding hole through the fabric_. _Jimmy was about to give up, to just fall back into his bed and never emerge from the warm soft sheets. _I could say I'm poorly, _he thought idly, half forming a plan to tell Thomas that he needed to take a sick day. He took one step towards his glorious bed.

But then Alfred hammered very loudly on his door with what Jimmy assumed was a sense of urgency.

"Jimmy!" he yelled, "Come on, you're late as hell and Mr. Carson's not pleased," Alfred opened the door, finding Jimmy standing half dressed, in the middle of his room with a ruined shirt in one hand and a clean one in the other.

"You've missed breakfast!" Alfred exclaimed. "And Mr. Carson wants us to help the maids air the entire bachelor's corridor. Apparently Lord Grantham has it in his head that he needs to help Lady Mary 'get back on the saddle.'" Alfred laughed. "That was a direct quote. 'Get back on the saddle.' As if grieving someone is like falling off a horse,"

Jimmy smiled but it was more like a grimace and finished dressing.

"Here," Alfred said, as he handed over a couple pieces of toast wrapped in brown paper.

"You are an absolute angel, I swear if I'm ever mean to you again—actually no. Because I'm pretty sure that I will end up being a prig to you at some point today," Jimmy said as he stuffed the toast into his mouth.

Alfred raised his nonexistent eyebrows. And Jimmy, contemplating just how strange that made his face look, missed a step and fell down the rest of the stairs, hitting his backside on every single step. He finally came to rest at the second floor landing. Alfred had stopped walking, watching speechlessly as Jimmy sat at the bottom of the stairs, cursing.

"I take it you're not having a good day then?" he asked unnecessarily as he hurried down to help Jimmy up.

"You'd be correct," Jimmy stood carefully, checking to make sure nothing was too seriously damaged, besides his pride.

"I can tell you it's going to all get better, but I seriously doubt that," Alfred replied, trying and failing to hide a grin.

"Me arse is gonna hurt for a bleeding week after that," Jimmy complained, and at that moment, Thomas rounded the corner of the staircase. He stopped dead in his tracks, trying to comprehend just why Jimmy was standing in the middle of the landing, rubbing his backside tenderly.

"Erm," he uttered when no explanation came to mind. Immediately Jimmy's face flushed and he swore under his breath. "Good morning,"

"What's so bleedin' _good_ about it?" Jimmy whined crossly as he limped carefully down the rest of the stairs.

"Well, looks like someone woke up in a mood," Thomas muttered under his breath. In his most professional voice he began to list out the day's tasks. "We've got four bedrooms in the bachelor's corridor and two in the ladies' corridor to prepare before this afternoon, also we'll need to fit out one of the spare servants' rooms on each side for the incoming servants. First we'll start with the bachelor rooms. I want you up in the red room at quarter to ten. James, why don't you grab a cup of tea and some _manners_, and I will see you both then."

"Right you are Mr. Barrow," Alfred said, smiling easily and making his way towards the dining room to begin laying the family's breakfast.

Jimmy grabbed a quick cup of tea from one of the cooling pots still on the servant's hall table and another piece of bread before hurrying up to help Alfred.

The day didn't improve. By tea time, Jimmy had burned his thumb on one of the breakfast's burners, spilled a sauce down the front of his trousers _and_ somehow, one of the silver sugar shakers had gone missing at luncheon and Carson had given him a very suspicious glance that Jimmy did not appreciate one bit.

By the time he sat down at the table for tea, his headache had spread down his back and into his shoulders and he hadn't said more than two kind words to anyone all day.

He scowled at the bread situated in front of him and quietly nursed a cup of tea as everyone around him chatted about the incoming visitors. Thomas watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye and could tell that as the meal went on, Jimmy's mood only blackened. He thought for a moment that it was going to come to blows when Alfred accidentally spilt tea on Jimmy's hand.

Jimmy swore loudly at him, calling him a clumsy oaf and several other choice insults before Mr. Carson called for order. The entire table had gone completely silent and Jimmy apologized rather reluctantly under his breath. He cited a bad headache and excused himself quickly from the table.

Thomas caught up to Jimmy shortly after the meal on the staircase. Jimmy was leaning against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand to his temples. His eyes were squeezed shut.

"What's the matter, Jimmy?" he asked kindly, much kinder than if he'd found anyone else in pain on the staircase. _I really should work on being nicer to everyone and not just the ones… one… I happen to enjoy spending time with, _he chastised himself. _Maybe then Jimmy wouldn't be so uncomfortable with my attention because I'm treating him just like everyone else. _

"I've the most bloody _awful_ day, and this headache simply will not go away," Jimmy's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs, or if he was about to start crying.

"Go to bed," Thomas said simply. "I'll handle Carson. We need you running on all cylinders tomorrow."

"But what about dinner? It's an eight course meal tonight! And we've the Dowager and Mrs. Crawley as guests—"

"Need I remind you that I was a footman long before your voice had even changed?" Thomas quipped. "We can handle it. Now go get some rest," Thomas' forehead was crunched up in concern and Jimmy was hit with a sudden and intense wave of emotion for the man in front of him.

Thomas really did _care_ about him, even if he was surly and cruel, even if he didn't feel well and took it out on everyone around him. Thomas still cared. And Jimmy, for the first time in years, wanted to _kiss_ the wrinkle of concern away.

_We could be _good_ together, _he thought wildly._ He loves me enough that he'd forgive me for lying… I hope. Maybe I could just_—, Jimmy unconsciously moved forward. He licked his lips and Thomas' expression went from concerned to confused in less than a second.

Thomas' pale eyes flickered down to Jimmy's red lips and back up. His gaze became heated. When had they gotten so close? Jimmy continued to move forward, until he could feel Thomas' breath against his lips. Thomas let his eyes slide shut, not knowing what was going to happen, but frozen in _anticipation_.

But at the last second, Jimmy's mind cleared and he pulled back. He forced the long-dormant lust swirling through him away.

"Er, thank you M-Mr. Barrow, have a good evening."

Thomas watched him go, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. He'd been so sure that Jimmy was about to kiss him.

_I must be out of my mind, _Jimmy thought, shaking his head as he made his way to his room.

But Jimmy didn't rest. Instead he paced around his room in tight circles, ignoring the dull ache in his neck and shoulders.

_That was bloody stupid of you. _He'd shown his hand to Thomas. His carefully crafted persona had cracked, and now he was vulnerable against him.

He'd been _so careful_. Jimmy had made a promise that he would never again allow his emotions to get in the way of his career. Love almost ruined him once. He was not about to let it happen again. _No matter what, I will not let him affect me. I've worked too hard._

He steeled himself and took a deep breath. He knew what Thomas wanted. And he also knew he just couldn't give it to him. There was a time when he hadn't been so jaded. There was a time when his life revolved around the ones he loved. But in the end, the only person he could trust was himself. And so he shut everyone else out. If he didn't care about them, then they could never hurt him. Thomas wanted to be loved. He wanted to be needed. And Jimmy couldn't afford to be needed again. Not after last time.

_I can never give him that. I can't give _anyone_ that again. _

Jimmy forced himself to go to bed; the monotonous routine of getting dressed and washed soothed him and by the time he collapsed into the comforting discomfort of his lumpy mattress, he was already halfway asleep.

He sighed. _Tomorrow will be better. _

Of course, Jimmy didn't know how very wrong he was.


	5. Chapter 5

Jimmy Contra Mundi

Chapter 5

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Be warned. Very minor M/M relations in this chapter that _aren't_ Thommy. I know, it breaks my heart too.

"Think of that person you knew when you were a kid, who you always thought you could have loved completely and forever. Well, you could have. It's the truth, and it's the saddest and simplest thing. There isn't just one person for each of us in the world. There aren't many, but there are always a few people we could have made it with, that maybe we still want to make it with, that press themselves so close to our hearts they leave scars, and then slip through our fingers and disappear from our lives. And it doesn't make a difference if you're thirteen or ninety- eight because some things you feel are real, no matter when."

~Abigail Tarttelin~

When Jimmy awoke, it was still dark. He had gotten his customary amount sleep, but he had gone to bed so early that his internal clock had become skewed. He looked at the window above his head and sighed. Moonlight was still streaming through the warped glass, causing fractions of light to scatter over is bedspread.

Jimmy glanced at the clock. 4:40 a.m. He valiantly attempted to fall back asleep, but Jimmy had been conditioned to rise the moment he woke up. With a sigh he threw his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his wild hair.

One of the benefits of waking up so early was the fact that he had the washroom entirely to himself. He grabbed his livery and toiletry bag and tiptoed down the hall to the men's restroom.

The water was hot, a rarity in the servant's quarters, so Jimmy took his time bathing. As he rested his head against a towel he had folded over the lip of the tub, he listened to the sounds of the house all around him. It creaked and settled like any old house, but Jimmy found the noises to be comforting. A newer house just didn't feel the same to Jimmy. It wasn't a home unless there was a sense that the house had a life of its own, with its on sounds and noises. Its own ghosts, so to speak.

He dressed slowly, putting on a new collar and carefully tying his tie. With new guests arriving that day, he had wanted to give a good impression.

Jimmy shaved and washed his teeth, then returned to his room. By the time he had finished combing his hair, he could hear other signs of life around the house. Simon placed a freshly polished pair of shoes outside his door and Jimmy retrieved them, then he hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

Ivy was starting the fires as he walked in and nodded sleepily in his direction.

"Good morning," she mumbled. She had all but given up on Jimmy and for that he was secretly glad. He no longer had to evade her advances, or be mysterious. He could just be himself.

_Well, mostly._ He thought.

He grabbed a biscuit and poured a glass of orange juice out of the pitcher Ivy had just squeezed, winking as she opened her mouth to protest and watched as she softened.

"D'you know when the tea will be on?" he asked, taking a sip of juice.

"In about five minutes. I'll bring in a pot," Jimmy nodded and crossed over to the servant's hall. He went over to the piano bench and sat down. This had become the place he spent most of his free time. Lady Grantham had encouraged Jimmy to play in the music room when she found out how talented he was, but Jimmy preferred the old upright in the Hall. For one thing, he always kept it perfectly in tune, whereas the one upstairs rarely got the same attention, being as he was the only real player in the house. Lady Edith dabbled here and there but she didn't keep up with any regular routine.

Jimmy opened up with a few arpeggios, letting his hands take over as his mind wandered.

He thought back again to his foolish actions the previous evening towards Mr. Barrow. His cheeks reddened in chagrin.

They had become close in the past six months. Even still, it had always been explicitly clear that their relationship could never be anything but platonic. Or so he'd thought, but the rush of emotion he'd felt for Thomas was shocking to Jimmy. It had been so long since he'd opened his heart to another person, since he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable to attack, that the sensation was unfamiliar to him.

_God, I hope he didn't think anything of it. _

Jimmy lapsed seamlessly into one of his favorite Debussy pieces as he thought over the logistics of the day ahead. He'd need to avoid Thomas; that was certain. He could not allow himself to be weak again. And it seemed like the more time he spent with the man the more vulnerable to those dangerous thoughts he became. At least he'd come to his senses before he'd actually touched Thomas. This way he could feasibly pretend that the misguided moment shared between them was a fluke, a result of his headache-addled mind, and not something of _significance_.

_But if you avoid him, doesn't that undermine this idea? _A little voice asked in the back of his head. Maybe it'd be best if he just acted like everything was normal. If he didn't make a big deal of it, Thomas wouldn't make a big deal of it, and the awkwardness could fade into the background of things they didn't talk about.

"That's very pretty," Jimmy jumped, startled from his reverie by the voice behind him, but true to form, he kept playing. He turned his head to find Thomas leaning against doorframe. "What is it?" he asked, standing straight and taking a seat nearest Jimmy at the table.

Jimmy took a moment to gauge Thomas' demeanor. He seemed to be behaving normally, his posture was perfect but easy; he leaned casually against the back of the chair as he watched Jimmy play.

He decided to follow Thomas' lead. "It's, er, _Estampes_, by Debussy," he flushed. "It's one of my favorites."

Thomas nodded. "I could tell," he said as he lit a cigarette

"Oh?" The music swelled between them, Jimmy's fingers were flying across the keys.

For a moment Thomas only listened. Then he nodded.

"How can you tell?"

Thomas shrugged. "It's in the way you play, like it's an afterthought. As if you've played it enough times to be able to hold a conversation and still never miss a note," his voice softened in admiration, or was it awe? Thomas felt his cheeks flush. He was showing his hand too soon. He coughed and put out the butt of his cigarette.

Jimmy transitioned into another piece by Debussy, the dissonance of the beginning feeling appropriate for the awkwardness between them that had slowly faded into perfectly harmonized notes.

"And this one? What's it called?"

Just then Ivy walked into the room carrying a tray of bread and tea. She smiled at Mr. Barrow as she left the room.

Thomas started towards the china hutch by the piano, pulling down two cups and two plates.

He looked over at Jimmy. "It's called Mazurka," Jimmy finished the piece with a flourish and joined Thomas at the table, buttering the bread and placing a piece on each plate.

"It was beautiful," Jimmy smiled widely. He usually kept Debussy to himself. More often than not he found himself playing jazz if he had an audience, but he wasn't afraid to play his favorites in front of Thomas, in fact he preferred it. It was just a small piece of him that he shared with Thomas, and he wasn't entirely sure that Thomas had understood the importance of the difference.

"It's one of my favorites too," Jimmy watched as Thomas made him a cup of tea just how he liked it and hand it over. Their fingers brushed lightly and Jimmy pulled away quickly, spilling hot tea over his hand in the process. Thankfully, Thomas did not comment; rather, he pulled out a handkerchief from his waistcoat and gave it to Jimmy to wipe his hands. Jimmy hadn't missed the small expression of hurt that made Thomas' eyebrows crinkle in the middle of his forehead.

"So you're up early," Thomas said as he took back his soiled handkerchief.

"I've been up since half past four," Jimmy took a bite of bread.

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?"

"No, my body is just wired for a certain amount of sleep, and since I went to bed so early last night…" Jimmy trailed off, ending his sentence with a shrug. It'd be best if he didn't mention last night.

"Are you feeling better?" Thomas asked.

Jimmy hummed in assent. "Much, thank you."

"Do you often get those headaches?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Not often, no. Sometimes when I'm stressed, sometimes if I'm tired. But generally a bad day just comes out of the blue clear sky."

As the rest of the house woke up, Jimmy and Thomas chatted amiably. The day was to be a busy one, and right away after a quick breakfast of porridge and kippers, Jimmy headed upstairs with Alfred to lay the breakfast table for the family.

The entire family dined together this morning, as the first guests were to arrive just after morning tea and Lady Grantham wanted to make sure all the preparations for company were done.

The morning arrivals went smoothly, much to Mr. Carson's delight. The Dowager and an old friend from her debutante days had arrived and were settling into their rooms on the first floor, their maids were flirting shamelessly with Alfred, who blushed scarlet at their attention.

Jimmy was busy preparing the guest wardrobes in the bachelor's corridor when Lord Gillingham arrived with his valet, an ancient man with sparse white hair and surly attitude. He introduced himself as a Mr. Davies and set to work unpacking his master's many suitcases.

By tea time, most of the party had shown up. It appeared that a Mr. Charles Blake was running late, he had missed his train and somehow forgot to mention that he had a companion travelling with him, an old friend from his Cambridge days. Would it be a terrible inconvenience if his friend also visited, and used the services of one of their footman as a valet?

Of course, Lord Grantham accepted, welcoming any friend of Blake's as a friend of his own. Secretly he was ecstatic, the more people who showed up, the larger the pool of potential suitors for Lady Mary.

So it was with this small surprise that Jimmy found himself opening and airing out yet another bedroom in the men's corridor, helping the maids with the bedding and preparing the washroom for this new guest. Mr. Blake hadn't mentioned who his companion was, and no one had thought to ask.

By the time dinner had started, Mr. Blake and his friend still hadn't arrived.

"Mr. Barrow," Lady Grantham said as Thomas began to pour the first course's wine.

"Yes, M'lady?" he whispered back.

"When our other guests arrive, please lead them to the smoking room and have James bring up a tray for them, would you?"

"Of course, m'lady." Mr. Barrow smirked over towards Jimmy and Jimmy replied by lifting his eyes to the ceiling. The entire exchange lasted no more than five seconds, but they had created their own language of sorts in the past six months. Jimmy felt the awkwardness of earlier slip back into the background of their friendship. The atmosphere was lighter between them, and for that, Jimmy was grateful.

By the time the doorbell rang in the middle of the fifth course, most of the guests were well away. Thomas answered the door and directed the new arrivals to the smoking room while Jimmy went down to the kitchen to retrieve their dinner trays.

It was, all in all, a normal day at Downton. Jimmy hummed under his breath as he climbed the stairs to the smoking room. He knocked twice and let himself into the room at their bid. As usual, he was ignored by the two men playing billiards. He studiously avoided eye contact with both men, as the servants aren't technically supposed to exist to the guests.

"Lady Grantham wanted to send you up a meal," he murmured placing the tray on one of the side tables. He happened to have glanced up at the exact moment that one of the men froze over the billiards table, the stick slipped his grip and scratched the soft velvet table.

For the first time, Jimmy closely examined the new arrivals. Though he didn't know why, apprehension began to spread from his fingertips. Then, quite suddenly, he knew who this unexpected arrival was.

Anthony Wolfe, the newest Lord Anstruther, turned around, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Jamie?" Jimmy dropped his gaze. His face flushed a deep crimson.

"Anthony—I mean M'lord," he corrected, automatically slipping into 'submissive servant mode.' He needed to get out of here. _Right now._

"My God I can't believe you're here," Anthony took one step forward, his hand reached out as if to clasp his arm, but at the last second he changed his mind and pulled back.

"Anthony?" the other man asked. Anthony turned around to find Mr. Blake staring at the two of them, bemused.

"Oh, of course, Charles, this is Jamie Kent, we grew up together at Edgbaston. Mum practically adopted him when we were little. Jamie, this is Charles Blake, one of my good chums from up at school."

Jimmy smiled tightly and nodded. _What's the best way to get out of this?_ "It's good to meet you. I um, I really must be getting back, once you've finished her ladyship would like for you to join the party in the drawing room," he paused. "If either of you need anything during your stay… please let me know. I will be your valet," he tried to smile. He really did. But it came out more of a grimace.

Anthony's eyebrows shot way up at Jimmy's formal tone. "Sure thing Jamie," Jimmy nodded once more and backed out of the room as quickly as he dared.

His heart was racing. Suddenly it was as if the floor dropped out beneath him; he made it behind the green baize door before sinking to his knees. A sob worked its way up through his chest and escaped, echoing down the dark stairwell.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt the bile rise up in this throat and he ran downstairs through the hall, past Alfred, who called out to him, and into the kitchen yard. He barely made it to the compost heap in time before he vomited spectacularly. Instantly tears sprang into his eyes. He heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach, and heaved again. But between the sobs and being sick, he hadn't realized that someone else was in the yard with him.

Dinner had just ended and Thomas was desperate for a smoke. As Alfred followed the family into the drawing room, and Mr. Carson served the men port, he escaped down to the yard. After Jimmy hadn't returned he'd assumed that he was still with the late arrivals.

As Thomas lit up a cigarette, hiding behind a couple of milk crates lest anyone caught him shirking his duties, he heard the yard door slap shut and then seconds later, to his surprise, Jimmy flashed by him. He watched as he ran towards the compost heap and threw up.

The cigarette dropped from his hand as he watched Jimmy vomit. Over the sound of the gasps and heaving, there was something else, however. He walked forward slowly, afraid to make his appearance known lest Jimmy be embarrassed for his lack of composure. But as he approached, Jimmy sank down to the ground, his forehead resting on the wooden plank of the compost dump, and he sobbed.

Something tore at Thomas' heart then. What on earth had happened to make Jimmy lose his cool? He hadn't seen a reaction like this since that awful afternoon in the wine cellar. Unconsciously, he touched the small bump on his nose from where he'd broken it. As Jimmy continued to sob on the ground before him, Thomas moved closer, until there was barely a hair's breadth between them. He reached out slowly, not knowing why, and pressed the palm of his hand flat across Jimmy's tight shoulder. Immediately, Jimmy stiffened, and ceased sobbing. He turned around slowly, tears streaming down his face.

In the dim light, Thomas could see his flushed face, small tiny dots where the violence of sickness had burst vessels surrounded his eyes and his cheekbones. There was a small bit of vomit still clinging to his cheek and without thinking, Thomas reached into his jacket pocket and wiped it away. Jimmy flinched from away from his touch.

"Jimmy, are you alright?"

Jimmy wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand and stood up. He studiously avoided making eye contact with Thomas.

"Are you still ill?"

"I'm _fine_," he shook of Thomas' arm, and staggered towards the door. Thomas made to help him, but Jimmy pushed him away.

"You're not fine! Tell me what's the matter." He took a deep breath. His heart was thumping wildly, concern was quickly turning to panic as he watched Jimmy try and fail to compose himself before him.

"Just leave me alone Thomas!"

Thomas pulled back, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Jimmy schooled his face into as neutral expression as he could manage and straightened his suit. Then with as much dignity as he could muster, he walked out of the yard and back into the house. Thomas followed as closely as he could without making the other man upset and watched as he immediately sat down at the dinner table with the rest of the servants.

The servant's dinner was a raucous affair with the arrival of the guests. Mr. Green had already pissed off Alfred for flirting with not only Ivy, but Daisy as well. Mr. Davies was sharing tips with Bates while Anna listened quietly to a new the new Lady's maid talk about a particular lace pattern that was all the rage in Paris. Thomas tried to make small talk with Mr. Green, but his focus was entirely on Jimmy, who was silent throughout the entire meal that he hadn't bothered eating.

The moment dinner was complete and the hall boys had cleared away, Jimmy sat down at his piano_. It's funny,_ Thomas thought, _when did I start thinking it as Jimmy's piano?_

He began to play a furious tune, so angry and discordant that several of the other servants looked up in alarm at Jimmy's tense back and shoulders.

He played for a long time, long enough to cool off before he had to attend to his additional valeting duties.

One by one the servants trickled out of the servant's hall. Alfred, at the request of Thomas offered to help out with valeting and Jimmy accepted gratefully, hoping that Anthony would go to bed first.

Of course, Jimmy's luck wasn't that good.

By the time the bell rang from Lord Anstruther's room, Jimmy had calmed down enough to face him without losing his supper, but that didn't make his pulse return to anywhere near normal.

He hadn't felt like this since right after the beating that Thomas had taken for him at that stupid village fair.

Jimmy lingered around the hall for as long as he dared, but eventually he had to muster up the courage to go upstairs and face him.

He would just have to be professional. That's it. Let him know that nothing would ever happen between them again.

_You broke my heart once, I'm not stupid enough to let you do it again, _Jimmy thought sternly as he took a deep breath and knocked twice.

"Come in," came a voice behind the door.

"Good evening, m'lord," Jimmy murmured, ignoring as his skin crawled at his subservient tone.

"Good evening, Jamie." Jimmy flinched at Anthony's casual behavior. Couldn't they just act like adults about this?

He walked over to Anthony, who was casually leaning against the fireplace. The ice in his whiskey brought forth so many memories that for a moment, Jimmy felt weak.

Moving by rote, trying desperately to pretend Anthony was just another guest and not the person who shattered his heart.

They knew each other so well that Jimmy fell back into their old pattern without thinking as he efficiently uncuffed his shirtsleeves, placing them on the bedside table just the way he knew Anthony preferred it.

_He's just another guest, _Jimmy thought to himself, over and over.

He tried not to notice how blue his eyes were in the lamplight, or the way his dark hair curled up over his collar to suggest that he needed a haircut. He didn't notice the small bump on his nose that Jimmy had given him when they were twelve and he'd accidently hit him in the face with a cricket bat.

He tried to ignore the way Anthony smelled just like home to him, and that his fingers were trembling against the buttons of his waistcoat.

Anthony didn't make it easy on him. He chatted to him throughout the entire ordeal, talking about his travels as if he'd forgotten that he'd promised to take Jimmy with him nearly three years ago, and instead ran off with that no good poet he'd met at hospital during the war. The entire time, Jimmy became more and more panicked.

By the time Anthony was undressed, Jimmy was so tense that when Anthony softly reached up and pressed the palm of his hand to his cheek he reacted violently, jerking back away from his touch as if burned.

"Come now, Jamie, what's the matter?"

Jimmy mouth opened in disbelief. "You're joking right? You left me and ran off with that no good poet! It's been three years Tony, not one single letter, nothing!" he was getting worked up now, "And you think you can juts waltz right in—"

But Jimmy wasn't able to finish his tirade because Anthony suddenly grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him. Jimmy froze in shock.

Anthony kissed him deeply, pressing his big hands to either side of Jimmy's face, his thumbs tracing circles over his cheeks. His lips were insistent against Jimmy's. And then, for just one moment, Jimmy let himself melt against the other man. He leaned forward into Anthony's tall frame and let himself feel for the first time in so long. He kissed back.

But after just a moment, just one moment of _insanity_, Jimmy came to his senses. He pulled away abruptly, staggering back. His lips were swollen and his cheeks burned from Anthony's evening beard.

"You can't do that Tony,"

Anthony smirked, glancing down to the seam of Jimmy's trousers. "I think I can," he said.

"Please don't."

"Why not?"

Jimmy felt tears well up in his eyes. _Because you broke me last time, and I'm just now putting the pieces back together. _But he didn't say this. Instead, he brusquely wiped the tears from his cheeks and turned away.

"Is there anything else you need, M'lord?" He couldn't face him.

Anthony sighed behind him. And Jimmy knew he was running a hand through his curly hair. "No, Jamie, that'll be all,"

"Have a good evening." Jimmy picked up Anthony's soiled suit and practically ran out of the room.

"Not bloody likely," he heard Anthony mutter as the door shut behind him.


End file.
